


You And I Both

by rippedoutgrace



Series: Your Sweet Touch [5]
Category: Pushing Daisies, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, M/M, a little more angst in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:44:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1675157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rippedoutgrace/pseuds/rippedoutgrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a thing now, Dean realizes. The two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry, guys. I'm trash, I know. This is long overdue and you're all mega babes for waiting so patiently. Final exams kicked my ass this month and I think I've rewritten this one about three times, but I didn't like anything I wrote. Then Dean had a rough Season 9 finale and I wanted to show him some love, so here we are. 
> 
> Your comments and feedback are loved and appreciated! <3

“ _Mmph_! Okay, okay,” Dean huffs against Ned’s mouth. He pulls back and he’s got a twinge in his neck and his jaw is aching. “I think my lips are going to fall off,” he complains without heat. But really.

 

Ned doesn’t look much better. _Disheveled_ is the word that comes to Dean’s mind. Delightfully disheveled and he’s more than a little smug that he did that. Ned smacks his lips thoughtfully. “Yeah, we should stop, right?” He looks over at Dean again and Dean just has to…

 

A minute later they spring apart and Dean falls over backwards on the couch, his legs hanging off the edge at an awkward angle, reminding his back that _he’s not twenty anymore_. He stares up at the ceiling panting slightly. “I don’t remember making out being so dangerous,” he manages to wheeze out.

 

Ned’s got his head tipped back to rest on the back of the couch. “I don’t remember ever making out for…” he glances at his watch. “ _Three hours_? Oh my God.” Dean can see Ned’s left eye bulging comically wide but not much else from this angle.

 

Dean thinks it might be a record for him, too.

 

He wriggles up the couch into a mostly sitting position, but makes sure to stay on the other end of the couch. That foot and a half between them is going to be crucial to maintaining his sanity. Ned’s staring at him amusedly and Dean blows out a breath from behind his sore lips. He quirks a grin at Ned. “That was fun.”

 

Ned’s laugh makes the twinges in his neck and jaw seem like nothing.

 

***

It’s a _thing_ now, Dean realizes. The two of them. He and Sam have been in town for much, much longer than necessary, especially given that there really isn’t anything supernatural at play here. But he can’t force himself to leave either.

 

Dean likes it here. He likes the colorful town with its colorful characters. He likes The Pie Hole and Olive and Chuck. He even likes Emerson Cod, his no nonsense attitude, reminding him sometimes of Victor Henriksen. He thinks Vivian has taken quite a shine to him and Lily hasn’t pulled a gun on him in a while. Which is a ringing endorsement if he ever saw one.

 

Most importantly, of course, he likes Ned. He likes Ned’s apartment, where they spend way too much time making out in every room like teenagers. He likes Ned’s soft, quiet manner and if Dean gets sappy and calls him a gentle giant in his mind, well that’s just for him to know. He likes hanging out at the counter in The Pie Hole, watching Ned roll dough and slice fruit. He likes those still, quiet moments when Ned’s cleaning up the kitchen at the end of the day and holds out a hand for Dean to follow him upstairs.

 

That part might be his favorite.

 

***

 

Of course, the peace doesn’t last.

 

A murder happens in the middle of the night while Dean is contentedly being the little spoon in Ned’s bed. They still haven’t had sex yet but honestly? Dean couldn’t care less. It’s perfect and warm, and looking down every morning to the sight of Ned’s enormous hands crossing over his anti-possession tattoo never fails to put a soft smile on his face. Rolling over to face Ned’s own sleepy smile and receive a sweet good morning kiss guarantees Dean has a fantastic day.

 

Except today? Not so much with the fantastic.

 

They don’t even know about it until Chuck greets them downstairs with a pale face, her usual chipper self hiding under a gray cloud. “There was a murder last night,” she tells them, looking at Ned more than Dean. Ned frowns like he isn’t quite getting it.

 

“A murder,” he repeats. Shakes his head. “That’s terrible?” he tries. Chuck’s face doesn’t change, except to narrow her eyes lightly in a wince.

 

“Ned, it’s your dad.”

 

Dean’s eyebrows make a reach for his hairline but he keeps his mouth shut. Beside him Ned is frozen, stiff and unmoving. Even his face is startlingly still. Dean reaches up and lets his hand hover indecisively over the small of Ned’s back, unsure if the touch would be welcome or not. He gets his answer when Ned abruptly strides off without a word.

 

Chuck chews on her lower lip. Dean’s hand is still perpendicular to his body, as if his brain hasn’t caught up to the fact that Ned isn’t there anymore. Chuck, being Chuck, reaches forward and clasps Dean’s outstretched hand. They hold hands for a while, silent and thinking, Chuck’s small fingers engulfed by Dean’s.

 

Dean has a whispering fleeting thought that Chuck is as desperate for physical touch as the rest of them. It’s okay with him. He keeps holding her hand and finds that it’s sort of nice.

 

Olive bounds up to them, not commenting on their still clasped hands beyond a confused pinch between her brows. “Where’s Ned?” she asks.

 

Chuck lets go of Dean’s hand and moves into the kitchen, wrapping her hair into a tight bun as she goes. The Pie Hole isn’t open yet and the ovens are still cold from their nighttime rest. She pulls out ingredients and flours the workspace as Olive and Dean look on, not a little confused. Dean just starts to fidget impatiently, wondering if he should have gone after Ned, when Chuck finally sighs and looks straight at him with a tiny imperceptible nod. “He’ll be alright,” she tells them, but Dean notices that it’s really directed only at him.

 

Dean nods in return and gives Olive a pat on the shoulder as he leaves. He walks around town all day, looking but not _really_ looking for Ned. Just checking obvious places though not going out of his way. He doesn’t find him and he’s not surprised.

 

***

 

“So,” he starts. And then stops for a too long pause. Thinking, collecting his thoughts.

 

“So what?” Sam frowns.

 

And he can’t tell him for some reason. He feels an indescribable pull to _not_ tell his brother about Ned’s dad. He’s almost positive Sam will find out eventually, even if it’s just by reading the obits, but he can’t do it. Not right now.

 

“So, I was thinking we should order pizza.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Sam continues frowning at him. When Dean turns a carefully blank face to him, he sighs and says, “I want thin-crust vegetarian. Extra peppers.” 

 

Dean says nothing of importance as he and Sam have chowed their way through their respective pizzas while watching old horror movies. It’s not as fun as it used to be for some reason, but maybe that’s because Dean is just one long line of tension right now. Sam indulges his running commentary on the inaccuracies of this movie’s swamp monster, and it isn’t until the credits are flashing across the screen that Sam brushes his hands off on his pants and looks pointedly at Dean.

 

“Not that I mind, but why are you here, Dean?” he asks bluntly. When Dean doesn’t respond, he tries again. “Why aren’t you with Ned?”

 

 _Because I don’t know where he is_. “I’m on my way over there,” he says casually. “Just wanted to hang out with my little brother.”

 

He can tell Sam doesn’t believe him for a second but thankfully, doesn’t call him on it. “Right, well I’ll see you later then?”

 

Dean makes his reply as breezy as he can manage as he slips on his shoes and heads for the door. “You bet.”

 

***

 

Olive’s the only one around in The Pie Hole and Dean doesn’t stop to talk to her, though he does shoot her a small wave. He runs up the stairs two at a time and skids to a stop outside Ned’s door. He deliberates about knocking, wondering if Ned is inside, but he has a key and eventually just turns the lock himself.

 

It’s quiet and dark inside. Dean sighs and squints at his watch. He can’t really see it but it was nearly 9 p.m. when he left Sam. He steps across the rug and runs his hand across the wall until he hits the light switch. The apartment is illuminated instantly and Dean nearly has a fucking heart attack when he sees Ned.

 

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” he yelps. He smoothes his hand over his hair, trying to calm down. “Didn’t know you were here.”

 

Ned doesn’t look at him but Dean hears a tiny grunt of acknowledgement. He takes it as invitation to sit on the coffee table in front of Ned. Who looks terrible and it makes Dean’s heart clench.

 

He doesn’t look like he’s crying, his face and eyes are dry, but slightly red. He does look miserable though. “Hey,” Dean soothes, taking Ned’s hands in his own and rubbing some heat into them. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he murmurs.

 

Ned lets his head fall forward across the distance to land solidly against Dean’s neck. Dean doesn’t react beyond wrapping his arms around Ned and continuing his murmured shushing nonsense. To be honest, he’s a little freaked out. Should he call Sam? Chuck? Olive was downstairs, maybe he could dash down and grab her. Any of them would probably know what to do far better than he does. He shifts slightly to reach into his pocket for his cell phone, deciding that Chuck would definitely be the best option here, when Ned makes a wordless protest at the jostling. He snakes an arm around Dean and hold him tightly.

 

“Okay, big guy, okay.”

 

“I was in Cœur d’Cœurs today,” Ned says, voice muffled by Dean’s neck. Dean pauses, still unsure about what to do and _hating_ that he doesn’t know. “I went to my old house and sat in my old room.”

 

Dean desperately bites back his horror that Ned has been sitting in that dilapidated house all day. There’s probably black mold and asbestos riddled throughout it.

 

Ned sits back and Dean’s neck is still warm and damp from his breath. Ned’s head is bowed over his lap, hands twisting compulsively between them. Dean runs his fingers through Ned’s hair, scratching at his scalp gently. “Yeah?” he murmurs softly.

 

His next words are so matter-of-fact and toneless that it takes Dean a moment to catch up. “My dad left me at boarding school after my mother died. He never came back.”

And Dean internally whistles because _J-e-sus_. “How old were you?” He’s almost afraid to ask now.

 

“Nine.”

 

Dean startles and his fingers stop their work until Ned nudges him slightly to continue, sighing deeply when he resumes the easy scratching. _Nine? Nine years old?_ That’s… yeah, that’s bad.

 

“I could bring him back to life,” Ned continues in that painfully emotionless voice. “I could touch him and bring him back. I could do that.” He sighs deeply and says to the ceiling, “I’m just not sure if I want to.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I just started a new job and it's been ridiculously hectic. I also didn't expect how hard this was going to be to write - I was just as indecisive as Ned. But anyway, hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

Dean thinks Ned may have fallen asleep on the couch. After dropping _that_ bomb, he seemed so exhausted and Dean kept stroking and rubbing his hair and shoulders until his breathing was deep and even.

 

“Ned,” he whispers. No response. He sighs and gets up to find a blanket, nearly tripping over Digby on the way to the bedroom. Honestly, the dog was absurdly quiet – Dean forgot he was even there half the time. Though to be fair, most of the time he was with Olive so his presence going unnoticed wasn’t so unreasonable.

 

He finds one in Ned’s closet and drapes it over Ned’s shoulders. Ned doesn’t even stir.

 

Dean supposes family is pretty exhausting. He would know.

 

***

Things aren’t _tense_ between them the next day, but they’re overly polite to each other – sidestepping and apologizing, and it’s uncomfortable and nothing like what they’ve been building together. Dean feels fidgety and he keeps biting his tongue, trying to keep words from spilling out.

 

Ned just looks miserable.

 

Dean finally manages to sort his thoughts out while he’s sitting at the counter in the restaurant, watching Ned roll pie dough with a little more force than is probably necessary. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Ned?”

 

Ned sighs and looks up, his face drawn and pale. He makes a _mmm_ -ing sound and pokes at the dough again. Finger-shaped indentions appear and he gets his rolling pin back out and rolls them away. Dean doesn’t know much about baking, but he’s pretty sure the dough was ready to be used about half an hour ago. 

 

“I get it, you know?” He looks around and there’s a man and woman sitting at a table near the window, but they’re the only ones in the restaurant. It’s that weird time of the day when it’s too late for lunch but too early for dinner, and Dean’s relieved when the couple finally stands, the man tosses a few bills on the table and they leave. “It’s rough…”

 

Ned makes an impatient sound, but Dean thinks it’s directed at the dough and not him. “Hmm? What is?”

 

“Dads.”

 

Dean thinks that any father that leaves his kid at boarding school after the death of the mother is pretty shitty. He doesn’t have many fond thoughts about John these days but at least John kept them. (He also knows Sam doesn’t agree and would have argued that the best thing for them would have been to live with Bobby or even Pastor Jim (Dean never tells Sam, but somewhere deep down, he thinks Sam is right)).

 

He waits for Ned to process that and the silence stretches until Dean thinks he might not respond at all. He’s about to try again when Ned pushes at the lump of dough and quietly comes to stand in front of Dean.

 

“Sometimes I think I hate – _hated_ – him. Maybe I did. Maybe I still do,” Ned shrugs.

 

Dean can’t fault him at all.

 

“What do you want to do?”

 

Ned shoots him a helpless look and shakes his head. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

 

***

That evening, Ned is still shaking his head and muttering, “I don’t know” over and over again, even as they’re literally standing in front of the morgue.

 

At this point, Dean doesn’t know what they’re doing either. Ned never sat him down and explained his gift to Dean – he just took it at face value and rolled with it. He’s good like that.

 

But now he’s wishing he’d gotten a little more detail.

 

No one bothers them all the way through the building and Dean wonders if it’s such a common occurrence for them to see Ned in here that no one even cares. The thought makes him a little uncomfortable for some reason. Even the grouchy old man who guards the back room just lifts an eyebrow at them and they push through the swinging doors without a word.

 

And… there he is. Or Dean supposes it’s him under the white sheet. Ned hasn’t said much of anything since they left his place, but now he’s absolutely silent.

 

His fists are clenching and unclenching rhythmically and Dean slips a hand around a fist, strokes it gently. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, okay?”

 

Ned breathes out harshly through his nose and grips Dean’s hand tightly. Turns a strained smile towards him and says, “I haven’t decided yet. But,” he pauses and the smile he gives Dean now is a little more genuine, but no less pained. “I’m glad you’re here.”

 

“Me too, buddy, me too.” And he is. As awkward as this is. He stifles a slightly hysterical giggle as he realizes he’s about to meet the parents. Kinda. Maybe. Still not sure.

 

The minutes tick by and Dean can feel the indecision rolling off of Ned. It’s partially a distraction tactic, but mostly he just really needs to know, so he just asks. “How does it work exactly? I mean, I remember the leaf and all but is there more to it?”

 

“Oh, uh,” Ned blinks at him a little startled. “Well, it’s like,” he waves a hand in a gesture Dean doesn’t understand at all.

 

“Gonna need a little more than that,” he huffs lightly. “You touch something, or some _one_ , and they come back to life. Permanently?”

 

“Oh God, no,” Ned shakes his head vigorously. “Well. Except Chuck.”

 

“ _Chuck_?” Dean’s incredulous. Then he remembers a long while back catching her sneaking into her aunts’ house. She said something about being dead but he had dismissed it instantly as some sort of nutty joke. “She was dead? Like, actually _dead_?”

 

“Is there another kind of dead?” Ned’s amused and Dean is so happy to see the small smile curling at the corners of his mouth, he doesn’t care that it’s at his expense. “She… she was murdered. On a cruise ship, if you can believe it.” He sighs deeply. “She was my best friend when we were growing up and I don’t know, I saw her lying in her coffin and it just seemed so _wrong_. She was so full of energy and life, I mean, she still _is_ but seeing her like that was so awful.”

 

Dean knows a thing or two about that, but he keeps his mouth shut.

 

“I had to touch her to find out who murdered her, she was Emerson’s case, you know,” he continues. And finally Dean understands his weird friendship with Emerson Cod. They’re _working_ together. Okay. “And then… I couldn’t.”

 

“Couldn’t what?”

 

“Touch her again. If I touched her within the minute she’d go back to being dead and that would be it. She’d never come back. And I – I was selfish. I wanted her to be here, to be with me again. I let the minute pass and she’s been here ever since.”

 

A small twinge of jealousy bites at Dean, but he firmly stomps it down. He knows Ned and Chuck aren’t a thing. “But she’s the only one you ever kept alive?”

 

“Yeah, and I can’t ever touch her again.” And oh shit, but Dean sort of forgot about that part. It also explains a lot.

 

“So, what are you going to do?”

 

He doesn’t reply and Dean glances at the clock. It’s not like he has anywhere to be right now but the longer Ned waits, the harder it’s going to be.

 

“Damn it,” Ned mumbles and takes a giant step forward and yanks the sheet back. Dean’s startled and lets out an unconscious “whoa”. And then he moves closer to peek.

 

He looks like a perfectly average guy. Face sunken slightly with a grayish tint, but that’s death for you. Dean holds back a snort. Death, the great equalizer. He’d been expecting someone… more, he supposes. An actual monster to account for the way Ned was treated. But nope, he’s just so… ordinary.

 

“You know, I’m surprised Death hasn’t paid you a visit yet,” he says.

 

Ned whips his head around. “What on earth, Dean?”

 

“Oh! Jesus, no, I just meant, _Death_. Capital D. I’ve met him a few times… he’s. Something.”

 

“Death is a person?” Ned wrinkles his nose. “You mean he’s a reaper? With the cloak and the sickle and everything?”

 

“More like a fancy car and a walking stick. With an addiction to fast food,” Dean shrugs. But really, he is surprised. Maybe Death’s too busy cleaning up the Winchesters’ messes to come find Ned.

 

They both look down at Ned’s dad at the same time and Ned holds up his watch, presses the side and slowly reaches a finger to his dad’s forehead.

 

Okay, Dean thinks. Guess we’re doing this.

 

Life is instant and the coughing groan the man makes has Dean jumping back a pace. Ned is stiff and rigid, a solid blank mask on his face. “Hello,” he says.

 

“Ned?” The man wheezes for a second and then beats a fist against his chest. “What is this? What happened?”

 

“I was hoping you could tell us.”

 

Dean steps closer to Ned and gives his shoulder a supporting nudge. _I’m here, I’m not going anywhere_ , he wants to say. But he keeps quiet. This isn’t about him.

 

“You only have forty-five seconds,” Ned continues in that worryingly bland voice. “You were murdered?”

 

“I’m sorry, Ned," the man ignores the question and barrels on. Clearly using the opportunity for what he could. "For everything. I didn’t treat you right and if I only have forty-five –“

 

“Thirty-nine.”

 

“Right, okay.” The man breathes out heavily, and Dean feels uneasy about this whole situation. Even he doesn’t know what Ned is going to do. Touch him again? Not? Walk away? “I am sorry, Ned. I’ve been keeping an eye on you and you’ve done so well.” Dean doesn’t think he imagines the approving nod the man shoots his way.

 

Well, that’s unexpected.

 

“Keeping an eye on me. Twenty-one, you should hurry.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, son, I just want you to know that I know I can never make this up to you. I wasn’t murdered though, it was an accident, I’m positive. But I do have a last request?”

 

For the first time, Ned shows a flicker of emotion. “A last request? Uh, okay… What is it?”

 

“Be happy, okay? You’ve got a real chance at a good life. Don’t waste it.”

 

Three seconds.

 

“Okay, I’m ready. Bye, Ned.”

 

Ned taps two fingers to the man’s shoulder and he drops back to the metal examination table, a dead weight, his skin going blue and cold.

 

“I didn’t expect that,” Ned sounds confused. “I didn’t expect an apology.”

 

Dean didn’t expect this entire encounter, but he gently pulls the sheet back over the man’s head and takes Ned’s hand. “Home?”

 

“Home.”

 

Dean feels a little thrill at the word. It’s his home now, too. Home.

 

***

 

Things aren’t tense and uneasy anymore. But they are quiet. Ned has a lot on his mind and Dean putters around the apartment, waiting.

 

They don’t go to the funeral.

 

***

 

“He was right, you know,” Ned murmurs into Dean’s hair a few nights later as they lay tangled together in their bed on the verge of sleep.

 

“About what?” Dean yawns and snuggles back into Ned’s warm arms, thinks hazily that this might be his favorite place on earth.

 

“I have a chance at a good life. With you.”

 

Dean says nothing but can’t keep the soft smile off his face. Kisses Ned’s knuckles and holds his hand against his chest. A good life.

 

He can’t wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have tentative plans for one more part in this series. I have no idea what it will be yet but I am fairly positive that it will be the last (for now). 
> 
> Also, find me at my blog! I do a lot of whining about my writing there, if you're curious about updates and such. [thosehawkeyes](http://thosehawkeyes.tumblr.com)


End file.
